Home
by Pandorama
Summary: An idealistic notion of what might have been the final scene for Luka and Abby, if not for all the angst. Oneshot.


_With all the hoopla of Goran leaving (Is he? Isn't he?) and the likelihood of ER ending at the end of next year, I had this little picture in my mind of the final scene for Luby. So in the hopes that TPTB will catch onto my idea (I know they lurk around here, they've already swiped two of my ideas!), I'm posting it. Oh, and to all you dreading his departure, hopefully this will calm you as it has me._

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters herein. They are the property of NBC and such, as well as of the brilliant actors who bring them to life (Maura and Goran deserve ALL the credit). That said, if TPTB happen across my fic, I hope with all my heart you steal it and write it into the show, because your sadistic ways are really going to be the end of me.

Abby bounced the squirming toddler in her arms, equally as impatient as her son. Her eyes scanned the vast expanse of the airport, on the off chance he'd perhaps be coming from another direction. It had been eight months since she'd seen him, since she'd kissed him, since she'd been folded into that indescribably secure embrace. It had been mutually understood that he needed to be in Croatia with his ailing father, and that she had to be in Chicago to finish her residency, to raise their son. His father had passed the previous week, and she couldn't help the relief that had washed over her when he'd told her. For him, she grieved…but it meant he was coming home. Where he belonged.

The pudgy little fist grasped at her locks of hair, whimpering for a distraction from the endless waiting game. He'd only seen his father via an Internet camera in the past months, but didn't understand the magnitude of the day. His mother smiled and kissed one soft cheek. "Almost, baby. Tata will be here soon."

As if on cue, a sharp _ping_ from the overhead public address system sounded, announcing the arrival of Flight 28 from London Heathrow. His flight. He'd connected there, called her to tell her, promised exceptional gifts when he finally got there, though she could hardly imagine anything more exceptional than his return. They moved to a crowded area surrounding the double doors that lead from customs. It would be awhile, still, but she pushed her way to the front nonetheless, clutching the now curious child tightly. In the scheme of things, the wait was inconsequential. She'd waited long enough for him.

A steady flow of people poured from within, none of any importance. And then she saw him. His tall frame was easy to spot in the crowd, thick black hair longer than when he'd left, skin tanned from the sun, clothes rumpled from the flight. And yet the most fantastic sight she'd beheld in all her life, save perhaps for her son. They'd share the title. His face broke into a smile as he spotted her, approached, and she crouched down to set Joe on the ground. "Go to Tata." Her palm nudged against his behind, urging him forward, as Luka understood, crouched as well, not far off. A few tentative steps, then deliberate, then a near gallop as the child wobbled enthusiastically forward. The pride in his father's face was evident to all around. His son's first steps, as far as he was concerned. He held his son close, kissing, tickling, rejoicing in what he'd missed. And then stepped forward to meet the other thing he'd missed, perhaps more than he'd ever missed anything.

His lips remembered hers as they kissed softly, her arms encircling him in a more intimate act than appropriate for a public place, but neither cared. Had the child not been held in one arm, he'd have done far worse. He drew back to see her eyes sparkling. "I missed you."

"We missed you, too." She didn't move her arms from around his waist as they walked, the three of them, to the baggage claim, and he had no intention of letting her move them. One hand supported his son, happily snuggling into this stranger whom he couldn't quite place and yet already loved, the other around his wife, the sole thing that had consumed his thoughts for the past eight months. Finally, home. Where he was meant to be.


End file.
